Then Comes Rain
by Kaesteranya
Summary: Drabbles and other stand-alone pieces for the 8018 -- Yamamoto Takeshi x Hibari Kyouya -- pair. Some of them will be porny.
1. Man or astroman?

**Man or astroman**?

_Theme date: August 12, 2005._

_Set sometime in the future, before shit starts hitting the fan for the Vongola. Also, this was inspired in part by a doujinshi called "Hinemosu Kimi ni Ubawareru"._

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"Phew! Man… aren't we the lucky ones?"

"You're the idiot who insisted that we linger."

"Hey, hey, don't be so mean you wanted to take more of them out anyway!"

Yamamoto grinned. Hibari ignored him in favor of wiping the rainwater from his face with the back of his sleeve. The Cloud Guardian only grew more annoyed when he realized that his clothes were no drier than the rest of him was. His companion, in the meantime, was taking off his suit and the long-sleeved shirt underneath it.

"Might as well dump this here, since there's no way the maids are gonna repair that much damage." The Rain Guardian was wringing out his shirt as he talked, and shaking the excess water from his hair. "This is almost funny. I mean, we're mafia, right? And now we're stranded here because we don't have an umbrella and neither of us have our phones with us."

"I_had_ mine."

"Oh?"

Hibari pulled it out of his pocket and showed it to his companion. Yamamoto blinked and stared.

"Whoa… they put a bullet right _through_ it!"

"They got lucky."

"Oh, hey, doesn't this remind you of the last time you and I ended up like this?"

"You soaked me with a hose. How could I forget?"

"Ehehe… it was an accident, I swear."

Hibari raked a hand through his hair and swept his bangs out of his face. Yamamoto, by then, was sitting on the floor, wringing out his socks. His shoulders were broad, the Cloud Guardian noted, broader than they had been only a few years ago when Yamamoto had still prioritized the professional baseball circuit over the Vongola Family.

"Well, we can't exactly stay out here forever." Yamamoto jumped up and replaced his shoes. "Stay here. I'll run out to a phone booth and have somebody pick us up." He was gone before Hibari could get a word in, leaving the latter to watch him disappear down the street. Hibird's chirping drew Hibari out of his thoughts, and the Cloud Guardian spent the rest of his time alone trying to dry the poor bird off.

"How's the little guy?"

"He could be better."

"Shucks. I'll let him eat stuff off my plate later."

Yamamoto proceeded to fuss over and coo at Hibird, but surprisingly, this did not piss Hibari off as much as it should have. Out of all the members of Vongola's inner circle, Yamamoto was the one who had grown up the most but changed the least. It made Hibari wonder exactly what he still saw in the younger man, since he was pretty much the same idiot now as he had been when they were in high school.

"Hayato'll be sending somebody to pick us up soon… he also told Kasukabe to come around. You don't mind waiting, do you?"

"I don't really have a choice."

Yamamoto grinned again. Hibari focused his attentions on Hibird, to better ignore the strange feeling in his chest.


	2. Back alley, with allies

**Back ally (with allies)**

_The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for November 12, 2008._

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Hibari Kyouya is all teeth, hard edges, hot need and violence when they come together, and Yamamoto Takeshi has, over the years, learned how to stand his ground and ride it out in order to take on the minimal amount of damage that Hibari needed to do before he allowed himself to be fucked by his lover of choice. Yamamoto has also learned that he did not have to hold back – in fact, he _shouldn't _hold back, because Hibari had no intentions of doing him the same favor. Hence, the Rain Guardian responded with a blow for each blow, a bite for each bite, a kiss for each kiss. That violence only serves to excite Hibari further works to his advantage.

Typical to his nature as the Cloud Guardian, Hibari does not like turning his back on enemies and on lovers alike – hence, during the act itself, he is above Yamamoto at all times, riding the other boy with the latter's dick fully sheathed inside of him. He turns his face to keep Yamamoto from kissing his mouth; his nails scratch Yamamoto's back when he finally cums. It is only after they are a tangled mess of limbs and sweat-soaked sheets that the pair press together, with Yamamoto settling himself against the contours of Hibari's body. It is only in sleep that the short-haired boy lets anyone get that close to him.

When he wakes up the following morning to an empty bed and an open window, Yamamoto is not surprised in the least – he carries on as usual, changing the sheets and doing all of his usual morning rituals before heading off to school. He meets up with Gokudera outside of the gates of the Sawada residence. The silver-haired boy raises an eyebrow at him, makes an off-hand jab about his appearance ("You've got that pervy face on again, freak"). Yamamoto merely laughs, ruffles his hair, and dodges when Gokudera takes a swing at him.

Hibari is in the corridor that Yamamoto passes in the company of his two friends; he is leaning against the wall with the coat of the Disciplinary Committee over his shoulders, arms folded across his chest, watching the world turn around him with languid eyes. They do not speak, do not send so much as a glance in each other's direction. They are done with each other for the moment, and until the need hits again they're both fine with acting like total strangers.


	3. Contradictions do not exist

**Contradictions do not exist.**

_Written for the word prompt "training" over at the KHR Fic Meme, with a title taken from the 31 Days theme for January 29, 2008. Special thanks to Nikki for doing the REAL archiving for all of us~_

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"Ahaha! You look like you're going to take a swing at someone's head, standing like that."

There he was again, stepping into his personal space in another careless gesture of camaraderie. You feel the distinct need to lift yourself up on your toes and bite his ear off. You do nothing against your better judgment (read: your instincts), beyond send him a blood-curdling glare that seems to bounce right off the side of his mountain of oblivion that he seems to carry all over the place, side-by-side with that ridiculous smile.

"Grip it here, instead."

Ludicrous, allowing this smiling _thing_ to stand so close to you, to measure the smallness of your form against the tallness of his in comparison, overlapping his legs on your legs, his arms on your arms, his hands on your hands. You can feel his chin hovering just above your head, his breath on your ear.

Congratulations. Now you know how to suffocate on clean air.

"…There you go! Now, take a swing—"

"How about I swing at your head?"

"Ahaha. That's not very nice."

You want to wipe that smile off his face and maybe break a few teeth while your at it. Instead, you turn away and take a practice swing at nothing, guided by the deceptive strength in his touch.


	4. Don't remember & don't repeat

**Don't remember and don't repeat**

_Written to the prompt "This Mess We're In", which is actually a duet between Thom Yorke of Radiohead fame and PJ Harvey. This one partially draws some of its material from my Return on Investment fanfic universe and a little more of its material from the semi-freeform Reborn RPlurk crew that I'm a part of, where I play as Hibari, Yamamoto and several other people._

_The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for January 7, 2007._

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When Hibari Kyouya vanished off the Vongola radar for a full week and it became clear that the Foundation had no clue where he was, Yamamoto Takeshi felt nostalgic before he felt worried. Hibari's disappearing acts were nothing new to him, and that particular sort of disappearing was something he was only too familiar with. Even as he busied himself with retracing the Cloud Guardian's steps and tracking the other man down, Yamamoto found that with each step of the way he only grew more nostalgic rather than worried, recalling, with a whole lot of wistfulness and no small amount of regret, the many rainy days in the playground of his childhood years, the rooftops of his time in middle school and high school, the late evening train rides throughout college and a whole bunch of different alleyways throughout Japan and Europe. Theirs had always been a story in the scenes behind the scenes, in dark and secret places whenever the weather was just right and their need went beyond what they were both capable of hiding. Hence, when he finally arrived at a particular area in the old district of Namimori, he was thinking not about the fact that there were pools of blood marking out a trail to some back street in the distance, but about how just a few years ago, he had found himself in a scenario much like that one.

"Well. This is a familiar scene, isn't it?"

Yamamoto knew for a fact that if he had the strength to, Hibari would have retorted with something smart and possibly smacked him for being an idiot as usual. As things were, the Cloud Guardian was slumped in place, boxed in by the walls on either side, bleeding liberally unto the dirt road – he managed little else beyond a wet cough and a look that saw _through_ Yamamoto rather than at him. The Rain Guardian smiled in a way that he hoped was more reassuring than worried, and bent down to scoop the other man up in his arms. It had become easier for him to carry Hibari over the years, but that did not mean that he would ever learn to ignore the way that he always felt so light whenever he was critically injured, or how pale he was against the shade of his own skin.

The next few hours were a blur of sirens, frantic phone calls (frantic, at least, on the other end of the receiver), white corridors and metal doors. The rain started up sometime after Yamamoto found himself standing by the window in the hospital room that Hibari would be spending the next few weeks in, watching as they wheeled his bed inside. They had given him a rather liberal dose of sedatives and anesthesia, from the looks of it – the staff were only too familiar with the sort of person that Hibari was (read: a guy who would stay awake during his own surgical procedures, if he could). Yamamoto spoke with the doctors and then waited for them to leave before he finally pulled up a chair at Hibari's bedside, to listen to the rain and his friend's faint breathing. He counted down one full hour before Dino Cavallone arrived right on cue, slipping into the room with a deliberate amount of care that he had seemed incapable of showing ten years ago, when Yamamoto had been nothing but a baseball-loving middle school brat and Dino had only partially grown into his role as the Cavallone Tenth.

"…How long?"

"Dunno. He just got out of surgery."

Only three years ago, Dino would have pulled up his own chair and come in close, close enough to touch his former student's face and stroke the younger man's hair as he slept. A particularly nasty incident, however, kept the Italian hovering just beyond the doorway, looking down at the figure on the bed with an expression that might have made Yamamoto feel sorry for him, were it not for the history between them. Neither of them wanted to repeat the incident that happened recently, with Hibari rousing a little too soon from his meds and Dino not managing to leave before the Cloud Guardian was up. It was because of that incident that Yamamoto genuinely felt like he hated someone.

"How did you find out? Did Tsuna tell you?"

"Not this time. I asked around for myself."

Yamamoto did not comment. Dino moved a little further into the room. Yamamoto watched the man, thinking, just briefly, how odd it was to see someone normally so confident and sure of himself slinking in like some common thief. And then he remembered, in vivid detail, what it was like to hold on to someone and feel him shake himself apart and listen to him cry in a way that no grown man – no human being – should have to cry. His sword hand twitched. Yamamoto ignored it.

"I need to call Tsuna. I hope that you plan on making yourself scarce within the hour, Cavallone-san… there's no telling when he'll wake up."

Yamamoto left without waiting for a response. Later, when Tsuna asked him why he sounded odd on the phone, he realized that he could have said a lot of things. He could have spoken of Hibari, about how was going to heal as he always did but he was broken up on the inside and he would sooner die than admit it. Speaking about Dino was also a possibility, and it would have given him the chance to explain exactly why Dino deserved to die because he had made a million promises and never kept any of them. He might have even mentioned, albeit briefly, about how it was exhausting, having to be the one to pull the splinters out of Hibari's heart and hands. Yamamoto smiled instead and lied through his teeth, telling his boss that he was just tired and that it would pass, as it always did.


	5. I don't know one joke

**I don't know one joke.**

_The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for October 8, 2009. I originally considered doing something fluff or crack-ish, considering the prompt, but I changed my mind._

_Set in the future of the TYL versions of the main characters, and sometime after the death of Yamamoto's father. …Which is a spoiler for those who haven't gotten far in the TYL arc, uh._

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It starts much the way it always does: him coming home from another job, drenched head to foot from walking in the rain too long, arms weighed down by the tonfa he's holding and head full of noise. Yamamoto, he's already in position – slumped against the door to his apartment, ass on his WELCOME mat, arms sprawled useless out on either side of him, cigarette burning away on his lips like he forgot, halfway through it, that it was even there in the first place. It takes the swordsman one full minute to notice that Hibari's right there in front of him, staring down at him. He moves like something painful, smiles like something worse.

"Ah… _okaeri, _Hibari-san_._"

Hibari replies in kind by removing Yamamoto from the doorway of his apartment with a good, solid kick to the man's gut. The fact that Yamamoto has a death wish is not his problem, and he intends to make that much clear at every opportunity.

The next one comes around after he's come back from a shower. Yamamoto's sitting on his couch, watching the evening news on his television set. He's taken his coat off, undone the first few buttons of his shirt. Parading around like he owned the place, it seems.

"I put some water over on the stove."

"Leave."

"Want me to order takeout? Since, you know, your fridge doesn't have much of anything in it."

Hibari chucks the cordless phone – phone, stand and all – at Yamamoto's head.

"Ahahahaha. I'll… take that as a yes."

It's not a yes, Hibari wants to tell him as he stalks back into his bedroom, but that would mean speaking and speaking would mean acknowledging the fact that Yamamoto's even around and that sort of defeats the purpose of this whole exercise anyway.

Sometime later, Yamamoto invites himself into his bedroom, and the only reason why Hibari doesn't kick him right back out is because he's supposed to be asleep. Most people would have figured that out, really, from the way Hibari's curled up on his side with the blankets pulled right up to his neck, but Yamamoto is a special kind of idiot and is therefore quite different from most other people.

"I got you hamburger steak. You don't need to worry about paying for it… it'll be my treat." There's a long pause where he's probably expecting a response, but Hibari doesn't care. Yamamoto laughs a bit when nothing comes, and, a moment later, there's the sound of him sitting down at the foot of Hibari's bed. Chopsticks breaking, then the quiet slurp of soup and ramen noodles. It's the last sound that Hibari hears before he manages to get to sleep for real.

It's sometime past 2 AM when Hibari wakes up again, and Yamamoto's lying down in bed with him. Curled up under his bedsheets, with his arms around his waist and his face pressed against his back. He thinks briefly, like he always does, of turning about and smacking the other Guardian across the mouth, maybe shoving the other off of his bed with another well-placed kick, but it's quiet in his room, quiet enough to hear Yamamoto crying.

Before he shuts his eyes and tries to figure out how to get back to sleep, Hibari tells himself that he's letting this happen because hurting herbivores is a waste of his time. Just behind him, Yamamoto wraps his arms a little tighter around Hibari's waist, chokes back another sob and says nothing at all.


	6. Tempting me into the garden

**Tempting me into the garden.**

_This one's set sometime in the future – the future that comes out as a result of the Vongola Family fixing this shit in the TYL Arc, anyway._

_In my head canon, Namimori Shrine and the compound within it is owned by the Foundation – definitely Hibari Kyouya territory, and the only part of his base that's visible aboveground to those who happen to be looking. Oh, and he's got funky yakuza tattoos._

_The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for October 15, 2009._

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"We are here today," he says, "to discuss your total failure."

It's quiet now, the kind of quiet that you get in graveyards after midnight or in bars/warehouses/casinos after you've killed everyone in it. The room you're in, it's a nice place, all Japanese and pretty in the sparse sort of way. You're over at the west wall, with your back against a mural full of rolling clouds, mountains and gods and your father's sword resting on your shoulder. They're in the center, been kneeling there since morning – you wonder, idly, if any one of them's had to take a piss for hours but he's too chicken to excuse himself. Hibari Kyouya, full-time head of the Foundation, sometimes Cloud Guardian of the Vongola – he's in front of them, all gray and black and pale. Only a guy like him could make something like the tea ceremony seem deadly.

"You were selected for a reason," he says. "The job required skill and a certain amount of discretion. Selecting the lot of you was apparently an exercise in futility."

You could marvel at the fact that he isn't saying much and doesn't sound any different from the way he usually does, but he manages to seem like the scariest, craziest motherfucker on the face of the Earth. You could amuse yourself, as well, with the realization that this is the most number of words you've heard Hibari say in the past few months. What you're noticing instead are the droplets of shower water still clinging to his hair, occasionally dripping down to the nape of his neck or the fabric of his clothes. What you're thinking about is the play of light in his eyes, the curl of his lips. What you're looking at are his hands, the small collection of brisk and controlled movements he's making, and the occasional glimpse of slender wrists from behind his sleeves, of the pale chest beneath the folds of his kimono, or the painted skin of his shoulders, his neck.

"I am not merciful. There will be no second chances."

You're watching him in his element, talking business and fixing tea, and you're not afraid, only dwelling on the fact that he's so much sin wrapped up in that kimono of his, and you know what no one else knows – what he looks like when he's sprawled over the sheets, the sort of he sounds like when you're fucking him.

"Once you step out of this room, you are to leave the compound and never come back… find another master, if you wish. Should you reveal anything about us, however, anything at all, I will hunt each one of you down personally."

He goes on in that same quiet voice he's been using since this whole thing started, and if it wasn't for the fact that he's describing, in detail, exactly how he plans on executing traitors in the most painful ways imaginable, you'd think he was rattling off the items on a shopping list. He's got a very vivid imagination, for a guy who used to go around, smacking people with his tonfa and treating his hometown like a safari full of game. Until today, you didn't know that there was more than one way to break a man's fingers.

Until today, you didn't know that you could get off on the topic of murder.

"Drink."

No one speaks. Everyone follows. You spent the next thirty minutes of lethal quiet cleaning your sword.

"Dismissed."

Kusakabe steps up the moment the crowd's fled like bats out of hell, but Hibari's fending him off with an irritated wave of his hand. He's standing, walking towards you – you can pick out the sound of his feet on _tatami_ mats from a million miles away. One heartbeat, and the sword's out of your hands and he's straddling your hips with his legs, hands on either side of your face, kissing your mouth.

"What brought this on?" you ask, once you've broken apart. His lips are breathing just over yours, sharing your air.

"I hate it," he replies, "when you watch me."

You laugh and reach down between your bodies, tugging at his obi. It comes off easy, in a rasp of silk and cotton.

Kusakabe quietly shuts the door behind him.


	7. Snow falling on cedars

**Snow falling on cedars.**

_Written to the prompt "winter time in an empty ryokan"._

_The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for January 7, 2009._

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The job started out pretty much the way jobs always did, when it's Hibari Kyouya and Yamamoto Takeshi tagging along as the Mandatory Vongola Family representative (since Hibari Kyouya would rather kill a million people than admit that he's with them): deathly silent car ride and a generally uneventful set of negotiations up until the rival boss man smiled, wished them good night, lifted his hand, and brought his whole clan down hard on their asses.

In retrospect, maybe Tsuna should have warned the man about his mercurial Cloud Guardian and his acute allergy to crowds.

About an hour past midnight and pile upon pile of corpses later, Yamamoto is flicking the blood off of his sword with a twist of his wrist. He sheathes his weapon, yawns, stretches, shuffles around to loot the guys in his vicinity. Thirty minutes of searching yields a Zippo, a nifty silk tie miraculously untouched by the death and destruction, an expensive-looking wallet (those baby pictures definitely have to go, though) and car keys to the sweet black Cadillac he saw parked outside when they arrived. He's fallen into the habit of bringing back souvenirs to give to the boys under his command, and there's nothing like a little bit of Asshole Tax to send all the right messages to all the right people.

So he's pocketing his finds, moving from room to room and trying not to trip on all the dead stuff, looking around, wondering if he should look for Hibari THEN look for the sake or look for the sake and THEN look for Hibari. He eventually decides to go with the latter, because a Hibari is much harder to find and get a hold of than a bottle of sake in a place like this.

It surprises him, then, when he's making his way down the rooms by the outer corridor and spots one of the bigger hot spring pools between one set of open _shoji _doors and the next, with his partner for the evening walking towards it, stripping off an article of clothing with each step of the way. Shoes, then suit, then tie, then belt, then shirt, then pants, then…

…Then the only thing he thinks about after those are shoulders and shoulder blades, and hips, and calves and ass.

Yamamoto zooms off. He finds the finest sake in the house and the best set of cups in record time.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," he says, when he's walking out into the cold, sake bottle dangling between two fingers and cups balanced on his other hand.

A narrowed eye, a sniff of disdain. Hibari looks relaxed for once, arms resting on the edge of the pool that he's occupied, face tipped up towards the stars, legs sprawled out beneath the surface. Untouched and clean, compared to the clothes that he's abandoned, the tonfa he's left out in the moonlight.

Yamamoto decides that it's time to pour the sake. The first cup goes down easy. The second never reaches his lips, because a tug sends him sprawling into the water and right on top of Hibari, who suddenly has one slender hand wrapped tight around his tie.

It's hard to believe that a murderer could have such soft lips.

"That was good wine," Hibari murmurs, just over his mouth.

"Ahaha, yeah. Wasn't it?"

Hibari smiles the sort of smile that never reaches his eyes, the one he wears when he's about to step up and break your spine.

Yamamoto forgets all about the sake.

The next morning, Sawada Tsunayoshi receives a massive bill demanding funds to repair a local ryokan that he's never heard of – among all the annotations on structural abuse, there's a request for one bottle of very expensive sake from Okinawa, a futon that had been thrashed and soaked beyond repair, and a coil of hemp rope.

Yamamoto is in the room when Tsuna brings the bill up to Gokudera. He spits out his coffee, laughs when Gokudera demands to know if the baseball freak knows anything.

Tsuna decides that maybe he doesn't want to know after all.


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